


Hopeful Romantic

by HappinessEscape (passicnfruit)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kuroo's a nasty playboy but he actually aiight, M/M, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passicnfruit/pseuds/HappinessEscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aside from volleyball and street fashion, Kuroo Tetsurou takes nothing and nobody seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hopeful Romantic

**Author's Note:**

> AU examining what could have been, had Kuroo not met Kenma.  
> I made a mistake, not making an outline first. It got really long.  
> It's too mild.

 

Aside from volleyball and street fashion, Kuroo Tetsurou takes nothing and nobody seriously.

Handsome, athletic, and not too bad at studies, Tetsurou’s life is smooth-sailing. Nothing he wants requires much effort to attain, be it grades, friends, or partners. On a daily basis, the palms of his hands touch more girls than he has room to count. Hands, thighs, shoulders, waists, cheeks, hair, he’s felt them all. Just this morning, the short, blonde-dye girl in Class 2-D sat on his lap and let him pet her freshly-colored locks. At break, he flirted with the curvaceous, foreign exchange student from Sweden. When the lunch bell rang, he set off with Morisuke toward the second floor—the first year battlegrounds—to check out the new flower girls. Morisuke tried to scold him, warning that the first year girls are off-limits, and how he’d refuse to bail him outta detention if he gets in trouble with these kids. Tetsurou yawns, not too interested in the weekly Mamasuke lecture, and continues on his way toward the closest first year classroom.

When class is back in session, Tetsurou learns from a pop review quiz that he’s retained nothing from trig last year, and that this year’s math is gonna be a bitch. He receives a note from Fumiki (a freckled student he met during gym the year prior) presumably passed around the class from some other source, and opens it up to see the formulas to use for the quiz. After quickly jotting down a copy of the equations, he folds up the scrap paper and nonchalantly tosses it back to Kai. A mostly sly (but maybe just a little bit relieved) grin finds its way onto his face, and he skims the class for the unknown accomplice. This year’s gonna be pretty sweet.

After class ends, Tetsurou makes his way to the school’s volleyball gym, with Morisuke and Kai at each side, picking up a couple teammates from the past year on the way. A couple girls make their way to Tetsurou, but none of them stay for long. Once the group finally reaches the gym, they all change their shoes, and head in. Tetsurou notices a few familiar faces, but maybe a couple more unfamiliar ones. He shuts his eyes and sighs, trying to figure out how he’d tame the overactive first years. Extra laps? Flying falls?

What _really_ catches his eye, however, isn’t any of the tall, high-potential balls of energy playing freeze tag around the gym. What catches his eye is the silent blond on the far side of the stage, hunched over and unnoticed by anyone else. His presence is so dim, if Tetsurou wasn’t on high alert for new members, he would’ve missed him. He isn’t too concerned, so he calls all the members’ attention toward him to begin their first practice.

He learns a lot about everyone within the short after school session—that is, everyone but Kozume Kenma. All he knows about the kid is that he has low stamina, decent setting skills, and no social aptitude. He won’t make it to the bench, Tetsurou predicts. Even so, something draws him to the small, unsociable boy, but he can’t quite put his finger on it, and that bothers him, just a little.

He doesn’t lose sleep over it.

 

The next day doesn’t feel too different, and runs on about the same tracks as the previous one. More comfortable today than yesterday, and with more of a game plan in mind, Tetsurou shares kisses with boys and girls alike throughout the day, always being the first to initiate them. Gentle, meaningless (to him, at least) kisses went to the few first years he’d met; sweet, bubblegum (or melon pan, depending on the time of day) kisses with the second years whom he’d found pleasant to associate with; rough, unrestricted skinship with many all-too-familiar third years. The day’s rhythm has been flowing smoothly, and Morisuke is hesitant to mention just how happy Tetsurou looks. If he mentions anything about Tetsurou’s smile today, it’s a snide remark about how his constant grin is giving him the creeps, knock it off for a minute, will ya. Tetsurou smirks and continues on his way.

Tetsurou finds himself in Class 2-A, and is intrigued by the sheer number of students there are in the room. He assumes some are from other classes, maybe even other grade levels, just visiting for lunch, but he’s still impressed by how many people can fit into a single classroom. There’s a cute girl sitting at the front window seat, with long, silky black hair, round, glimmering eyes, and a confident, perfect posture; even though she’s wearing the same uniform as all the other girls, she’s brilliantly unique, and Tetsurou can’t take his eyes off of her.

But for some reason, he does.

His eyes drift to the back of the classroom, where a pocket of space exists, separate from the rest of the room’s loud and bright atmosphere. The pudding head from volleyball practice yesterday is sitting at his desk, furrowing his eyebrows, perhaps deep in thought, hunched over and occasionally tapping his video game screen with his thumb nail. Tetsurou knows that if he lets this opportunity with the doll in front slip by, he won’t get another chance, whereas he has all the opportunities in the world to chat with Pudding Head in back, but Tetsurou isn’t known for making particularly good choices.

“She’s your type, isn’t she?” He pats Morisuke on the shoulder and points vaguely in her direction. “Go get her, tiger.”

Morisuke turns his head toward his rooster-haired friend and somewhat gawks at his generosity. He won’t complain, though, and makes his way forward, gesturing something with his fingers Tetsurou interprets as a ‘thanks.’

Now that he’s let that beauty go, Tetsurou’s feeling something similar to regret. He brushes it aside and heads toward Pudding Head. He sits backward on the chair in front of the second year’s desk, and waits to be noticed. He doesn’t need to wait long, because the the setter’s playing a turn game, and seems to be at a loss. He closes the screen and looks up, for what Tetsurou assumes to be the first time since he got to school.

“You got some free time?” Tetsurou asks, trying to look the blond in the eyes. When he nods, instead of verbally replying, Tetsurou knows he’s in for a long lunch. “Do you even recognize me?” Another nod. Tetsurou rests his head on the desk, and turns a bit to get a upward angle at the kid. “What’s your name, anyway? Even though I’m the captain, I’m not too good with remembering this kind of thing.”  
Hesitation. The blonde shifts his gaze toward the window, then toward the doors, and back again. “Kozume.” A pause. “Kenma.” Their eyes meet for the first time, and both draw back with surprise–Tetsurou, at Kenma’s sharp, apple-honey irises, Kenma, at the intensity of Tetsurou’s stare. Although further apart, their eyes haven’t shifted. It takes his a while, but Tetsurou finally manages to speak up.

“Ah, you… you were playing your game just now, weren’t you?” For the first time in too long, he’s… anxious, maybe. “You can go ahead and finish.”

“I was just about done.” Kenma’s eyes darted back to his thumbs in his lap. “I think… I know how to win, so it’s okay. My strategy… it should be good enough.”

Tetsurou’s unsure about what he means, but decides to press on. “Strategy?”

Kenma hesitates, pulls the corners of his lips back just the slightest amount, and briefly explains the situation. Tetsurou’s never been a huge fan of video games, especially not strategy ones, so he can’t exactly follow, but he think Kenma sounds more intelligent than he makes himself out to be; more importantly, he seems excited, but he shows so little that anyone could have missed it. Tetsurou didn’t.

When Morisuke finishes up with the second year (who turns out to have as sweet of a voice and personality as her looks), he taps Tetsurou on the shoulder and informs him of the time. He narrows his eyes at the unfamiliar student, but forms no positive or negative opinion on him. He greets the underclassman, introduces himself, even, but makes no further attempt to socialize with him. Kenma does the same.

Tetsurou stands, thanks him for the entertainment, and gestures a goodbye. He and Morisuke leave together. Maybe trying to get along with him wasn’t such a bad idea.

 

Practice ends early one weekend, just as a light drizzle begins to fall. The members split into their going-home groups–the train station group, the uphill group, the downhill group, and the downtown shopping district group. Since it was beginning to rain, everyone left in one of the first three groups, except for Kenma. Had this occurred a few weeks ago, Tetsurou would have thought little of it, perhaps not noticing at all. But a single bright red uniform in his far peripheral vision catches his eye, and he excuses himself from his gang, a skeptical Morisuke eyeing him from a distance.

Tetsurou sets a comfortable distance between his left shoulder and Kenma’s right, making sure that the second year is aware of his presence, yet not so aware to the point of becoming uncomfortable. When it feels safe to speak, Tetsurou opens his mouth, but before any words can come out, Kenma’s rusting through his bag, avoiding eye contact, again. He finds his umbrella at the bottom of the bag, and opens it in front of him. A warm, summer orange expands in front of his eyes, and the corners of his lips rise, if only very faintly. He surprises Tetsurou, extending his grip above his head, motioning for the upperclassman to come under. It’s a bit awkward at first because the umbrella is made for a single person (or, at most, two small people), and then Kenma’s arm begins to quiver, and Tetsurou is hesitant to just grab the umbrella from him and walk that way. The shopping district is in sight, so he decides to just wait it out.

The rain is heavier now, a thick blanket of liquid smog pelting the earth with no signs of stopping. It’s as if the skies’ caretaker has gone on a long vacation with no mention of return, and has left the sprinklers running. Kenma takes a deep breath, fills his lungs with the distinctive scent of city rainwater. His exhale is accompanied by a gentle, dandelion sigh, and Tetsurou can’t help but stare, awestruck and captivated like never before.

Kenma asks Tetsurou for permission to enter a music store, to which Tetsurou replies that he can do whatever he wants. Kenma’s wide eyes send shivers down Tetsurou’s spine (of course, he blames it on his half-wet jacket, though). Kenma leaves his umbrella with him, and enters the run-down CD shop.

Tetsurou’s caught off guard when Kenma returns, beaming (shyly, somehow), and holding a brand-new CD to his chest. Tetsurou, for once, doesn’t know how to react. Kenma’s voice when he invites Kuroo over to listen (y’know, only if you want, and if you don’t have anything else to do, and if your parents say it’s okay, too) is a gift from a distant Siren, as soft as chocolate spread, and as pleasing to the ear as a garden of carnations is to the eye. It takes a moment, perhaps a couple, for his words to register in Tetsurou’s mind. In any other situation, he would have agreed on the spot, but he paused, and took a moment to think.

The situation is one which he’s experienced many times over; he walks a friend home (Wait, does he even think of me a friend?), is invited inside (Are his parents okay with a stranger coming over?), and hangs out in their room for a couple hours, maybe a night, participating in whatever activities they feel like at the time (What am I gonna do?). Kenma waits patiently for an answer, for once, unwavering. Tetsurou does his best to paste on his best smile (or so he thinks), and responds.

“Alright.”

 

Tetsurou follows Kenma’s lead, until he notices the familiar scenery. The Three Bridges Bakery, the old physician’s building that only last month was put up for lease, the big tree on the corner that looks like it’s growing sideways… His house. He looks at Kenma, glances at his own house, repeats, once or twice, and finally makes a connection in his mind.

Tetsurou’s eyes widen at the realization.

“We’re neighbors?” he blurts out.

Kenma unlocks his door, puts his free hand to his chin, and looks upward, as if some cue card existed on his doorframe. “I suppose so.” He turns and smiles in Tetsurou’s direction. “Let’s walk to school together, sometime.”

Tetsurou prays to the volleygods above, for Kenma to, for once, cease being so observant, and to somehow overlook the rising redness in his face.

 

For whatever reason, Tetsurou doesn’t expect Kenma’s room to look like this.

He expects bare walls, a neat desk, nicely kept shelves, and clothes well-organized in a closet of some sort. Instead, what he sees is an otaku’s fantasy. He doesn’t recognize much; walls plastered with various basketball and baseball anime posters, a number of figures from that popular magical girl show, manga volumes and anime DVDs in copious amounts, cosplay from every corner of the anime universe… Tetsurou notices a sailor uniform draped over the chair at the desk, but mentions nothing.

Kenma plops himself onto his own bed, pats at an empty space next to him. Tetsurou’s heart nearly leaps up and out of his mouth. Is this how people normally feel, when they like someone? Wait, does he even like Kenma? Tetsurou’s just nervous because he’s never had to deal with this kind of person before, that’s it.

That’s not it, and he knows it.

Tetsurou likes Kenma. He likes him a lot. He likes him more than he’s ever liked anyone before, in a way that he’s never experienced. Kenma gives him butterflies in his stomach and caterpillars in his throat. Kenma sends him tosses during practice anfd texts during afternoon classes. Kenma is the person whom Tetsurou has been looking for all this time.

Kenma’s eyelashes are thin and pretty, and his Tetsurou could look into his unique, feline eyes for hours on end. His body is small and fragile, and his soft skin makes Tetsurou’s heart beat a little faster with every touch. He loves all of his nervous habits—lip biting, fingernail picking, fidgeting, covering his mouth—and he loves all of his efforts to stop them, as well. The close attention to detail when playing his fighting games and his undying love for his spouses in his farming life RPGs may make him a bit strange to outsiders, but to Tetsurou, they make him all the more endearing.

Kenma makes Kuroo happy.

When Tetsurou snaps back into the present, Kenma is also looking directly into Tetsurou’s eyes, as if thinking the same kind of thoughts. He’s about to speak, or so he thinks, but nothing comes out. Not so much because he couldn’t think of anything clever to say in the first place, but because Kenma had silenced him with his lips.

It was strange; Tetsurou had never been on the receiving end of something like this before. If it had been anyone else, would he have disliked it? Would anyone else even do it? Why couldn’t he do initiate it this time?

Tetsurou brushes those thoughts aside, sweeps them to the back of his mind. Kenma’s lips are still pressed against Tetsurou’s own, and the pudding blond tries to get Tetsurou to separate his lips. Tetsurou chuckles at the attempt and allows Kenma to enter. Kenma slips forward, or seems to, at least, and falls onto Tetsurou’s chest. Whether or not Kenma notices the rapid heartbeat in the upperclassman's chest is unknown, but Tetsurou has more important worries on his mind.

“Kenma.” The name feels soft on his lips. He waits for the nod. “Do you like me?”

A mumble. The look on Tetsurou's face is a clear indicator to Kenma that he didn't understand what he said. He avoids making eye contact. "It depends," he repeats.

It depends? What is that supposed to mean? Tetsurou ponders it in his mind. Kenma was weird, yeah, and definitely hard to deal with, much less understand, but that didn't turn Tetsurou away. Before, he didn't care whether he understood the younger boy or not, but now, it isn't even a question. He wants to know. He wants to understand him. But he can't pry too hard, or he'll lose him. So he sits himself up into a deep slouch against the wall, Kenma still pressed like a bouquet of wilting flowers to his chest, and speaks. "I think I might like you." The words feel odd to him; he was always so sure of himself, with flirtatious ‘love you too babe’'s and ‘let's meet after school’'s, but with Kenma, the words never seem to come out quite right, and even when they do, they don't ever really feel quite right.

Kenma stares back, eyes wide–perhaps in awe, likely in disbelief, probably in confusion, maybe even a little bit in embarrassment, but Tetsurou doesn't feel even a hint of disgust, he thinks, until Kenma speaks–"I don't know if I like you, in that way," Kenma bites his lip, hiding his face in his upperclassman's chest; he worries, for fear that Tetsurou will hate him, will leave him, but he doesn't want to lie to him, either. "But... I definitely don't dislike you."

Tetsurou wants to be able to say, that's okay, don't worry about it, but the words don't reach his lips. Instead, he pets Kenma's hair, fingertips trembling, and tries to appreciate the moment for what it's worth. Kenma's warmth against his chest is slight, virtually nonexistent, and Tetsurou worries about how light he is. He sniffs his hair, cocoa butter, and appreciates its soft, almost whimsical texture. He feels Kenma’s shallow, timed breaths against his neck, studies Kenma’s slender form with his fingertips, as if preparing for some type of exam.

He’s hurt, but it’s a shallow wound, and it’ll heal soon enough. For now, he’s satisfied with just being here, with him.

Tetsurou falls asleep to the gentle hum of the heater and the rise and fall of Kenma’s chest against his own.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where I was planning on going with this.


End file.
